


Paper Heart

by helloliriels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloliriels/pseuds/helloliriels
Summary: John gets to introduce Harry to Sherlock at last, and see what she makes of him. Meanwhile, Harry notices a bit more than John or Sherlock have either had the courage to say out loud.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	1. Bad Boy

"Are you trying to peg me as a 'Bad Boy', John? Please," Sherlock interrupted, catching John's eye and raising his eyebrows in question, before indicating his posh attire and the salted caramel latte with extra caramel he held in his hand.

John had been leaning across the table at the little coffee shop, describing Sherlock and his traits to Harry. He stopped momentarily to cock his head at Sherlock, "Not trying, Sherlock. I mean, it is what it is." Not deterred in any way, he continued to describe Sherlock's exploits and 'bad' behavior in what Sherlock would call - a rather exaggerated and _elaborate_ fashion.

Harry was eating it up.

John sat back, ending with, "and now you get to meet him in person. You agree right?"

"You shouldn't give Harry the wrong impression John."

"Have I?" he asked Harry, conspiratorially.

Harry shook her head, "definitely not! He is all that and _more..."_ she added winking at John. "I totally get it now, you always did have a thing for bad boys in school."

Watson spit out his coffee. Jumping in with a, "No, no! Nothing like that." He grabbed for a napkin to clean up the dribble on his chin, "Harry. A word. Please?" And pulling Harry along 'til they were around a corner, nearer the kitchen, he started in quietly. "What are you trying to do?" He hissed out. Harry took it all super-conspiratorially, "John." She looked him straight up and down, "seriously, look - John. You aren't fooling anyone. You just spent 10 minutes romanticizing your flatmate in _front_ of him without even blushing! I don't know how. I mean. He knows, right?"

"God, no," Watson placed both his hands over her mouth, as if the walls could hear and go back to tell Sherlock, "He doesn't. He can't. I mean, he doesn't go in for that sort of thing."

"You mean he isn't gay? Or he doesn't do boyfriends?" She looked over Watson's shoulder at the man at the booth, and then back at John with confusion and then dropped her eyelids, staring at John, deadpan... "you are kidding right?"

She paused.

"Tell me, you're kidding John."

When Watson didn't reply, she shook her head.

"THAT man. OUT THERE. Is NOT gay? Pfft," she started laughing. "Forrest for the trees, I guess bro. Whatever... secret's safe with me. But heck, if I were you. I'd ask him who his boyfriend _is_ then. He looks like a man in a steady relationship. If it ain't you, it's someone." She looked back over at Sherlock sitting content and quiet, "that man is secure. He's not even browsing." And she turned to go into the loos herself, to give John time to make up own mind how to save face in returning. "But word of advice," she threw out, around the door, "don't take too long. He might just marry whomever it is before you've told him how you really feel."

John was left in turmoil. Not even thinking about how he should go back to explain his little "talk" with Harry.

He can't just... No.

But, Sherlock is?

WHO??!

When?!

_Where_?

He spent every waking moment (that John knew of, besides a few errands now and then) in John's own company. This was going to kill him. NOT knowing...

He trudged back over to Sherlock. Who perked up immediately to John's shift in attitude.

"Everything O.K.?" he asked John, a touch of concern in his voice. It made John smile a little. And his heart hurt. He looked over the gorgeous man in front of him. All dark curls, and brilliant blue eyes. A man whose depth of character he knew inside and out. Who shined like a prism, reflecting color and changing everything in John's life with his very presence. And John didn't really know him... did he?

He could go on for hours about the genius and complexity of the man. And still. Not know him.

Not on that level.

It made him sadder than - he realized - he had any right to be.

"Are you alright? John?" Sherlock was shifting out of his seat now and standing up. "Is Harry alright?" Sherlock was on high alert, holding onto Watson's shoulders and craning his neck to see past him, in case Harry had was in need of emergency service? Or in trouble? Or _anything_.

Watson loved how ready the man always was, to dive right into danger. Bad boy. _Hmmff._ He chuckled to himself a bit. _A bad boy with a paper heart._

"S'all right Sherlock, was nothing, " he said, "Just remembered something personal I needed to discuss with her. It was kind of urgent. She's fine. I'm fine. It's just..." Sherlock grabbed John's coffee from the table and handed it up to him.

"Did you want to leave?" He was fussing. John could tell. Trying to read the room, and failing. Watson loved him the more for it. How could he get them back to the lighthearted mood of before?

Harry came bouncing back out. Hands on her hips. "Well, you boys should really invite me out more! Next time, Sherlock - you must promise to tell me EVERYTHING about my brother. Since I haven't SEEN HIM -" She eyed Watson liked a criminal -" in AGES. And he never tells me anything." She looked over at Sherlock who was smiling in reply,

"Deal??" She asked.

To which he replied, heartily, "Deal."

"I'm out, you two!" She whistled as she trotted off - grabbing her jacket, and punching the door open. "I'm sure you have dinner plans anyways," she called on her way out, "Happy Valentine's!"

John was dumbfounded. And turning bright red.

He felt like the entire coffee shop must be looking at them. Staring at the back of his head. His neck ached with the rigidity he was trying to hold himself steady. To look normal. He could kick Harry. He counted to ten, before trusting himself enough to turn around and look at Sherlock for his reaction. Dreading it.

But Sherlock was kicked back again, enjoying his latte. Seemingly, oblivious. _Huh._

John shook his shoulders loose and sat back down, since this was clearly what they were still... doing?...

Sherlock was not the type to sit still for long. And as far as John knew (he winced, internally) he did not frequent coffee shops much. _Maybe he did with his boyfriend?_

"So," Watson huffed, trying to kick-start conversation, if only so that they wouldn't sit in silence in a public coffee shop. Talking was usually not difficult for them. They seemed to read each other naturally. But John was at a loss. Feeling. Disconnected. At the moment.

"Tonight," Sherlock said. His eyes were twinkling.

Watson shut his mouth.

Swallowed.

So the parting shot HAD been heard. And registered. _Bollocks._

"Tonight," he tried cheerfully, "Plans?"

"Definitely."

"Good," Watson clipped. "That's um... good." He paused, before it slipped out, "Who with?" He licked his lips.

Sherlock looked confused momentarily, but then seemed to parse the question. Sitting up straighter to reply. "Was thinking Angelo's?"

"No, I meant." John tried again, "you know what, nevermind." He went to get up.

"What? Is Angelo's not a good choice?" Sherlock also stood. Grabbing his coat and stretching his long, elegant arms to put it back on. John was watching him, like a man parched, and thirsty for water.

Sherlock grinned. "Place where we first met."

"Oh," John's face dropped, again. So he hadn't been the first (or apparently), the last, whom Sherlock had taken there. With the exception, that this one had actually BEEN a date or, worse yet... TURNED INTO a date.

He huffed. _Sucks to be you, Watson!_ He thought to himself. Hearing Harry's voice in his head.

"Why don't we go, John?" Sherlock was being gentle, and it crushed him further. "You must have a headache. Funny. Caffeine usually helps with those..."

John followed him as he marched out the door. All long strides. Clipped, however, to allow John to keep pace with him.


	2. Chummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day, they return to 221b after meeting Harry and John storms off upstairs to think.

Back at their apartment, John trudged upstairs immediately, leaving sherlock in the living room. 

His feet were heavy and it felt like lead pumping in his veins. He steadied himself. Pausing momentarily as he went up one more step. Feeling every bit of his age this afternoon.

The morning _had_ been lovely.

Seeing Harry again was not something he had anticipated happening. On today of all days... And certainly not in the jovial manner in which it did!

Harry and John's relationship was... strained, at best. But Sherlock had somehow arranged it. And, John reflected. It had gone well.

Maybe there was hope there.

She seemed to take to Sherlock after all. He was oddly persuasive. John smiled. And then the grief struck him again, that here was one more reason for him to love, and appreciate Sherlock. And Sherlock was really?...

John found he was having trouble breathing. He had just rounded the corner of the stairwell and leaned himself back against the wall, his head fell back with a dull thud. Making a hollow sound. He cringed.

At least he was out of sight from Sherlock below, (since he hadn't got far) in the event Sherlock got curious and look up to check on him.

He was having a panic attack. 

He had those sometimes. 

_Or did_. Rather

Less frequently now... that he was with sherlock. 

With sherlock.

The thought floored him.

He tried and failed, to steady his breathing. Rolling off the wall and committing to getting inside the door of his room first, he pushed himself.

He wondered... 

How long would he be with sherlock.

Had he ever? - he asked himself - even stopped to think about that? before?

No.

He hadn't.

Why? Didn't one? with Mates? There was always an UNTIL... but not with Sherlock.

Somehow - he realized upon reflection - he had thought they would be inseparable.

Like two halves of a whole. He had taken it for granted.

One wouldn't think to cut off half of oneself, to go about their life?

They secured each other.

Balloons that drifted otherwise. 

Grounded.

Lightening that could not be contained and must be directed. 

More than attraction.

More than platonic,

come to think of it. 

Abnormal, in its normality 

_For them_.

How they had fallen into sync with each other's lives so readily. They had opened up to each other in ways they had never let any other in. Was that what mates did?

The more ways he counted.

The more he realized how much he had come to rely on Sherlock. For everything. IN everything. Trust. Companionship. Love.

They were symbiotic. Living

because the other lived.

But in a healthy way.

The way a plant grows in the sunlight.

Or a fish breathes in the water.

There was something natural, to it.

He remembered Sherlock calling him his 'conductor of light'. But in reality, John saw Sherlock as shining the brightest. Impossibly bright sometimes. Like it made him pale, in comparison.

And he would have been pulled into its mad, swirling orbit, no matter what. It had been a willing choice, but that just made the ride all the better.

And a now severing of that tie was just as inevitable. John felt they might as well put out the sun.

Possibly sherlock would take this new (man? woman?) on cases with him as well?

Have to endure their praises, as they complimented and flirted with _his_ Sherlock Holmes. He was grinding his teeth again. 

John had stepped into his room during all of this. Moving about in a caged manner. Pacing back and forth in the limited space. 

He Suddenly felt like punching something. 

Angry at Sherlock. 

Angry at himself.

Angry at...

He lashed out, throwing something (he wasn't entirely sure what, until he heard it smash) against the wall in a sickening crunch. Like scales had fallen off his eyes - the way it does after an act of childishness - he realized.

He knelt down to see the shattered remains of his lucky cat.

It was the funny little one Sherlock had picked up for him last Christmas, after the blind banker case. The month just before the 'Last Girlfriend' had left in a huff.

John had been rather hopeful then...

He wondered now why he had stopped trying. With the girlfriends.

It was obvious, even back then.

Sherlock was not interested. In him.

Sherlock Would Never.

Be interested. 

But he had thought, at least they could have this?

Whatever _this_ was. 

It was enough.

_Almost._

Now

He was losing even that.

He sank down to the floor next to his closet. The carpet felt nice. He was tired. This was stupid. He would have to see Sherlock off on his date later that evening. And he had to (he HAD to) put a good face on it.

After all, (not that he cared, right?), Sherlock had always let him have HIS dates. Without... ok with some complaining.

So _maybe he could get some barbs in_. Just to even the score.

John psyched himself up. He would be cheery. He would be normal. He would be, the best mate he could. For as long as Sherlock would let him.

He breathed out, a puff and a prayer for confidence and control of his own jealous nature. And took himself off downstairs. Sherlock wasn't his property after all. As much as he wished, he was. He would be chummy. _Mates._ This was Sherlock's right to be happy. He wasn't going to dim it.


	3. Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is going to get this under control - it was his first chance to make good on his Valentine’s promise to himself.

Sherlock is going to get this under control - it was his first chance to make good on his Valentine’s promise to himself.

He was going to tell John. He was going to give John the opportunity to come out. _If he wanted this._

Sherlock had come back from the coffee shop in complete confusion over the mood John Watson was currently in. It was like two animals were warring with John’s emotions. And Sherlock wasn’t sure which beast would win…

***

He had heard John pause in the stairwell. And thought better of making any comment - as he could tell it took his flatmate nearly five full minutes to get up a single set of stairs.

He held his breath listening. Pretending to make noise. For John’s sake. 

He had been counting this week, all the ways he had unconsciously adjusted his life around John Watson over the past year.

It had all started with finding Harry at a bookshop days ago. He immediately recognized who she must be and, unlike his usual self (thanks again to John’s influence in his life) had braved a conversation with her. 

John would have been proud, he thought. 

In fact he had let Harry make the move to invite John under the pretense of meeting sherlock herself. They both agreed it would be better that way.

He didn’t want John thinking he was trying to pull anything, after all. And the meeting of the coffee shop had gone surprisingly well, sherlock noted.

John seemed genuinely happy to see Harry. 

And with Sherlock there - they had both seemed a bit more comfortable. Sherlock paused at the irony of that very statement. Considering most people became 90% more uncomfortable in his presence…

The Watson’s were indeed a rare bunch.

And Harry had seen one more deduction. Realizing what Sherlock had _not_ told her. It was clearly obvious from their short meeting, and her own knowledge of her brother’s behaviour.

Sherlock knew John was a little bit embarrassed by his family, and somehow could only see their flaws. His own self-consciousness no doubt. Sherlock however, certainly appreciated their other side(s), for there were many; their intelligence, their wit, their courage, and their capacity to love. 

Sherlock had planned on a nice evening at Angelo’s, the site of their first dinner together. To allow them to have a rehash of the conversation he should have answered _so differently_ a little over a year ago. It was the one and only time John Watson hadallowedhimself to show his interest openly, and he - Sherlock, had panicked. Shot him down. Shut him down.

At the time, he didn’t yet know enough about the man sitting across from him. 

It would have been a snap decision. 

Decisions like that about emotions, about vulnerability, could not be made lightly. 

After all, sentiment was something to be kept under wraps. Like all human trappings: caring, hunger, want, anger, lust, passion, greed - It must be tamed and held subject to will. Reigned in, lest it gain control of your life. Become a weak point. A chink in the armor. A fly in the ointment.

He wished now, that for a moment he had allowed himself to be compromised - and seen what would have come of it. 

But here _was_ his chance. 

Watson was a romantic. And this was Valentine’s. His one opportunity to make a statement. Hint, and see where John would take it.

\--

He had been slow to realize it himself. To see the shift. 

How significantly in the last year, their interactions had changed. 

Their hands drifting to touch more often, to linger when they could. Their bodies, tending to lean in closer, to breath in each others air, to share each others space at every opportunity. They both had found excuses. The small laptop. The forgotten phone or keys. The cold weather and shared pockets. The single bed in the inn…

That time, Sherlock had barely been able to contain his want. 

And then, there were the Little Things that he started to notice about himself;

How he was really changing, and very much for the better.

In his position in the British government his brother had to be extra careful - guarding against outside intrusion. So Mycroft had always taught him to do the same. Sherlock took those lessons to mean that he should always go it alone. Should stay behind guarded walls. But now he found, that he preferred to have a team with him, and not have to always be so lone _ly._

That he could trust Lestrade, even when things looked dark,

That he could rely on Molly’s insights, and often needed them.

That Watson and Mrs. Hudson’s healthier habits of feeding him up and making him get enough sleep, might actually _help._ Listening when she told him they were her “favourite pair”.

At this point, any protests he gave were more for show than anything else. The sociopath would sometimes be surprised by just how childish he had become in his lifestyle before John Watson…

He found that John however, took it all in stride…

Seeming to find sherlock’s antics endearing, and humorous. Even when he was going for furious or sulky.

It _was_ rather infuriating sometimes how John was able to get him laughing, when he was the most upset. And could help him to forget his anger altogether - if he could just get him to first crack a smile. It had become a game to them.

And it was definitely Watson who helped him out of his darkest moods. Who saw him through danger nights, even when they had barely known each other.

Danger nights, he reflected, that had become less and less frequent over the past months. As he learned to trust and open up from his solitary confinement. 

He noticed John stopped dating girlfriends. 

Noticed John stop looking at other women. 

Noticed John looking at _him_ more.

Noticed _John._

Even Lestrade at this point had made some comments to sherlock on the matter, that he had taken to heart. 

Lestrade wasn’t Mrs. Hudson after all. 

Sherlock took his advice _occasionally_ (after vehemently defending the polar opposite position of course) - as he would, if he took his dad’s advice… which he didn’t.

Greg Lestrade was an honest man. So when he said he had noticed the way John was paying attention to Sherlock - to the exclusion of every other relationship potential in his life - and had also promptly poked holes in all of sherlock’s rebuttals… Sherlock sat up and took notice.

Devil’s advocate will only take you so far after all… 

Especially when you have an angel sitting there on your shoulder offering you heaven…

Their behavior had become singularly monogamous of late. 

He thought again about these dinner plans. What to do?

John didn’t seem particularly thrilled by Angelo’s. In fact, the idea seemed to upset him. Sherlock puzzled. Determined to figure it out. He could call up Ella, John’s therapist and figure it out in just a few questions. But he felt that might be a bit not good.

Perhaps… no… well, why not? Perhaps he could call Molly and ask her for boyfriend advice. She has… boyfriends.

He certainly could NOT ask The Woman. That would only upset John more (besides prove that she was still living), and he wanted John to be completely confident this evening…

Yes,

Molly was the best possible resource for this question.

He dialed her up.

While John was smashing something upstairs, a rushed and panicky Holmes dove right into the point of his call.


	4. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock consults with Molly on what could be wrong with Angelo's for a first date with Watson? He had thought the man would be touched by the gesture, but now... he was out of his depth. And he needed some advice.

Molly was available, but could not talk at the moment - being elbows deep in a cadaver. Sherlock's only option was to head out and confer with her in person.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, assessing John's potential reactions to coming downstairs to an empty flat. Then decided on the whole, it might be for the best.

Watson needed to think. 

And Sherlock would only confuse the matter if he pushed without further insight into Watson’s mindset.

He grabbed up his coat and scarf and rushed out the door, barely a whoosh in the parting. The door was left light on the latch as he left. 

Mrs. Hudson was downstairs, and Sherlock passed her with a small peck on the cheek.

"Going out now?" She cheerily asked in parting, a statement more than a question. And Sherlock largely ignored it. He nodded, said simply “Bart’s” as he pulled the front door behind him, and was gone.

\--

Molly's lab was clean and quiet. Sherlock liked the neatness. The sterility. The smell of harsh cleaners and metallic instruments.

He eyed the tidy tray as Molly's gloved hand selected tool after carefully selected tool. Processing the rib cage, sternum, internal organs, and neck region of one Mr. Kimball Green that read on his toe tag.

The blood smearing the front of her apron and smock would have been off-putting to any other of her colleagues. Few ventured into this room. Or stayed for long if they managed to wander in. But Sherlock found it calming. There was no intrusion. Visitors kept their own welcome short. And he was not called upon to interact with anyone unless he chose to. Molly worked in silence, except when documenting the findings of her post-mortem.

Sherlock waiting patiently. He knew an undistracted Molly would be necessary if he was to get solid, thought provoking advice. Doctor Molly and Affable Companion Molly seemed to be of two different minds. Neat and tidy. Compartmentalized. Just the kind of person he respected.

She indicated that she was wrapped up, and Sherlock followed her into the next door chemistry lab after some cleanup and changing of gowns.

She brightened immediately, "So? What can I do you for, Sherlock?" Her cheery grin was all the more pure and honest in it’s friendship, now that she was no longer trying for Sherlock's attentions. They had come to an understanding on Sherlock's.... orientation, a few months back now. She had been surprised (but not really) when it came down to it. And had surprised him, by becoming a great ally in his understanding of how to handle what he hoped to be, a lifelong relationship with John Hamish Watson.

He really was lucky to still have her as a friend. He thought again of how he had hurt her in the past. Why had she forgiven him? He could only be grateful. He smiled back, "Well, um... we have a problem," he paused, choosing his words more carefully. "I have a problem," he stated more simply, "tonight is Valentine's, and the plan was - " "Angelo's, yeah??" She interrupted. "Yes," Sherlock looked down at the ground intently, toying with something between his shoes, "it seems there is some trouble with that as an option now...." Molly looked thoroughly puzzled. He sighed. Maybe this wouldn't be easy to solve for tonight. Time was running out.

"Any thoughts, Molly?" He asked. He pleaded, really. As if by asking in desperation might help jog an idea free from her or their minds, collectively. This was a worthy puzzle. And Molly could see that Sherlock was out of his depth with it. A click down the hall Sherlock ignored as he continued, "Where else could we go? I don't think John would like it if we went to Angelo's tonight. Though I'm not quite sure why??"

A door slamming behind them made Sherlock whip around. Nobody had been in the lab with them... had they?

He jogged over to the door, to catch a glimpse of grey-blonde hair practically running out of the hospital wing, out of sight, and out the door.

FUCK.


	5. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John won't pick up. Sherlock makes the only call he can. Maybe Harry will know what's eating John?

John’s phone rang. And rang. _And rang_. Several times he reached the voicemail, with no answer. John was clearly _not_ picking up.

Sherlock was in absolute panic. Molly tapped on his sleeve and tried to get his attention... not realizing the moment he was having.

"Sherlock what happened today? How do you _know_ John doesn't like the idea of Angelo's?" Sherlock's hands fluttered in frustration, as he spun around. They quickly became a vice grip on his temples, trying to get himself into his mind palace. He was not succeeding... _How could one focus at a time like this??_

Molly asked him again, "Sherlock, how do you _know_?"

Sherlock stopped and looked at her, trying to calm his mind. Staring through her, as his thoughts raced ahead of him. "We went out to coffee earlier today" he said, "Harry. She met with us for coffee."

"OK, that's good. That's a start," Molly replied, “Did something happen?” It was clear she had never seen him this worked up before. She eyed him with serious concern.

Sherlock search his memory - trying to think of what was the trigger? It was a feeling. Nebulous. 

"I don't know! I don't know!!!" Rapping at the sides of his head with his open palms. Desperate to jog something free and start his CPU running again.

His fingers were now pulling on his hair. Digging into his scalp. Molly had to pry them away, "It's OK, Sherlock - calm down... think." 

"Harry!" A light had come on, Aha! His head snapped up. Hands dropping. "John had a personal argument with her. Something between siblings?" He paused, "I don't know. I didn't listen. Gave them their space." Shaking his head and trying to see it in his mind. 

"OK," browsing on the phone for Sherlock contacts, Molly saw John Watson's entry and next to it, a new entry for Harry Watson. "Why don't we try calling Harry? Ask? Maybe there is something they spoke about. I mean, did _she_ seem upset after their talk? Maybe it was something personal?? You said yourself they've always had a difficult relationship..." She left it hanging. An open ended question.

Sherlock protested "But she seemed cheerful when she came back, after they spoke - it was just John that was affected?"

"Well. You don't know her very well. Maybe she was just pretending? People do silly things when they're upset, Sherlock." It wasn't helping. "OK, so if you think that John would be upset with you reaching out, to Harry - " She quickly amended.

"He... he won't think I'm prying?" Sherlock asked incredulous even at the suggestion.

"I'm sure it will help if he knows why you’ve asked - especially since you seem so upset right now. He dislikes upsetting you, Sherlock."

Sherlock had not considered this aspect. John did not like him to be upset. It surprised him sometimes. Few people in his life had ever cared if _he_ was upset.

"We can call Harry, and you'll only ask what you need to know." She stated, already dialing the number on his behalf.

Harry picked up almost immediately. 

Suspiciously fast even.

Sherlock wondered...

"Harry!" He shot out, "have you spoken to John...?? I can't reach him."

Harry was painfully quiet, "I just got off the phone with him, Sherlock.” Her voice was acid. “Really, I don't understand you. You seemed like a pretty cool guy earlier... but to lead my brother on like that??"

"Like what Harry? I am really confused right now." Sherlock replied, breathing in. A forced calm in his voice.

"Well all I can say is," she answered in a huff. Clearly _not_ listening or _willing to_ listen to anything that Sherlock had to say, "At least I tried to warn him earlier, which was kinder than what you did." 

"Warned him about what??" Sherlock asked now, A new note of panic raising the tenor of his voice.

"About your girlfriend. It would have been kinder to John if you just told him out right that you were going out with Molly...?!"

Sherlock almost dropped his phone, the shock was so great. 

Molly watched in silence. Her hands over her mouth in horror. Sherlock had gone deathly pale and was looking at her as if he could see through her. And not the typical Sherlock-not-paying-attention kind of see through, but in the Sherlock just received the shock of his life sort of manner.

Molly picked up the phone from where he had dropped it and place it gently back into his hands folding it over so that he held it tight. 

"Sherlock," Molly breathed. Voice so quiet. "You need to explain to John."

She continued after a moment, still in hushed tones, "I think you are going to have to be more obvious than just hints tonight. If you’re going to get anywhere with this..."

He was shuffling over to the door. Intent in thought, his mind racing to all possible outcomes of _this_.

"And sherlock?" she said, offering up one more kindness than sherlock could have ever expected of her. "If you need me to tell John anything, I will. 

I will vouch for you. He needs to know the truth."

He stopped, hand on the door, " Thank you Molly." He said appreciatively. He couldn't have meant it more, "This is something I need to fix. I've been the one hiding. I should have spoken up sooner. I should have..."

"Sherlock," Molly said, brightening up as if she'd just had a thought, "There is one redeeming thing in all of this!”

Sherlock looked back at her with curiosity. Why was she smiling?

"At least now you know... 

he _really_ likes you, in that way."

Sherlock took pause, "You think so?" His voice daring to contain some hope.

"I know so," Molly said. It was the encouragement he needed.

She patted his arm and walked away after pointing at Harry's number, and gave Sherlock a look that said ‘you know how to fix this’.

His shaking fingers dialed Harry's number again. Begging to any deity that would listen, that she would pick up.

"Harry," he said, "give me two minutes."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because, it's for John's happiness." He held his breath and waited. Taking a leap of faith.

He could hear Harry sigh on the other end of the phone and give in. He had read her correctly then. She really did love her brother, and wasn't just trying to stir things up. _This was her defending John_. _Little lioness._ It fit somehow.

"Fine," she stated, "two minutes. This better be good."


	6. On My Sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is waiting at Angelo's. What was supposed to be his first real date. But will Watson show?

Sherlock. Waited. Alone at the table.

Unlike their first time here together, Sherlock had not arrived with John Watson in tow as planned.

And he could feel the absence, with every fiber of his being.

This was NOT how this evening was supposed to have gone.

But he was hoping,

and counting,

on Harry to find a way to get John to arrive somehow.

That was their agreement.

That was _all_ she would promise.

The rest was up to him...

He tried sipping on some water, but his stomach felt so ill, he was afraid even that would come back up if he swallowed. Unwilling to submit himself to _that_ fiasco - he spit it back out into the glass and pushed it away.

He was Ignoring the smells around him. Ignoring the happy smiles on a restaurant full of faces. _Not_ _John_ faces. Ignoring the candle that prominently sat on the middle of the tables that he saw in every other alcove of the room beyond him.

His fingers were tapping on his knee. His knee was bouncing an erratic pattern.

His foot tapping on the ground.

To any onlooker, 

Sherlock would have been seen as a ball of unbridled energy.

Lightning waiting to be directed.

A quasar about to come apart, if given the right catalyst.

A few people looked his way uneasily. He stood out as the only solo attendee on this night _of all nights_. St. Valentine's. A ridiculous holiday, if ever there was one. And certainly not one he had ever intended on celebrating. Except when he found he had wanted to make a statement. A bold, clear statement to the one person that mattered the most to him...

He dared not make eye contact with anyone. No doubt they were all coming to their own conclusions about his missing _other._ And they had no idea how real that felt to him right now. The ring in his pocket made him aware of how much he had set store on this night working out as planned.

Mycroft would laugh at him, had he known...

He should probably try to tone it down he thought, try to look more composed and prepared for this eventuality. But found, he couldn't care less.

What did it matter when anyone else thought?

All that had mattered tonight - that had ever mattered to him - was what John Hamish Watson thought. And Sherlock would commit murder to have some insight into _that_ right at this moment.

But John had not arrived.

Yet.

He looked at his watch for the 111th time.

His eye caught a reflected light off the window and the tin sound of a door closing outside.

A cab was pulled up across the street. About the spot where they had seen and taken chase after a criminal on that first night when they came here together. The thought made him smile and hurt worse at the same time.

It was Watson stepping out of the cab.

Sherlock straightened this shirt front and jacket.

Swept back his curls

Took a swig from his water and swallowed hard.

Angelo had already been by the table 3 times with water and was eyeing Sherlock with a look of concern.

Sherlock ignored him.

Sherlock was watching John intently out the window. To see how he paid the cabby. How he might nod his head, or hand off his tip to the driver. Desperate to read ANYTHING in his demeanor before he made it in the door.

Nothing.

Watson came in.

A cable knit sweater.

And... a umbrella? Was it raining? He looked back outside. No. Sherlock did a double take. It was a cane. John walked up and set it against the wall. Just like he did when... Sherlock patted at the seat next to him, implying for John to sit close.

Not something they normally did.

He thought he'd at least try?

He wanted to be close.

Close enough to read and hear and smell and see everything about the man standing across from him...

Watson elected to take the seat by the window.

To soon then.

He looked bored if anything. Like this whole charade could be dispensed with. And what the hell were we here for?

Angelo made his way over to the table keeping an eye on Sherlock.

Receiving a nod, he placed the waters on the table, along with the menu's. Watson looked up, and -

smiled - a tight smile. Not giving an inch.

Angelo gave Watson a look that Sherlock could not see. Whatever it was, Watson let go a little from his petulant stance and simply nodded in return. No data. 

How to start?

Watson spared him the herculean task of speaking first...

But the first words out of his mouth puzzled Sherlock;

"People in real life don't have arch-enemies." He simply stated.

Sherlock tilted his head assessing John's mental status, briefly.

Parsing the words in several dialects.

Was it a clue?

What did it - Oh. _Oh._

_So_ John was taking this seriously. But clearly not getting WHY they were bothering. So he had abbreviated his early interchange from their first "not date" night. And Sherlock - he remembered it word-for-word.

He formed his reply, in like manner - this could help actually:

"Don't they? 

Seems a pity."

John kept the flow going: "No, they... people - they have... friends -

People they _like,_

People they _don't like..._

_Boy_ friends _..._

_Girl..._ Friends _."_

He finished, and swallowed.

Suddenly needing the water in front of him.

Sherlock eyed him with softening eyes.

"Yes, as I was saying... dull." Sherlock almost whispered.

Watson was looking at the table cloth intently as he asked, "You uh, you _don't_ have a girlfriend, then?"

Sherlock waited to catch Watson's eye. Willing him to _look up_. John had meant _every word_ of that question.

When he finally did look, Sherlock was struck by how much was written on his face. He really did think it had been Molly... and it had crushed him. How had Sherlock failed to show him all this time?

Here he had thought it was a blazing insignia. Something written all over his person. That everyone, including John _HAD to know_. He wore his heart on his sleeve, ready to be torn - ready to be burned, this whole time, and yet... the ONE person it had been for, had really _not known_?

Sherlock was afraid to be too much, but he had already committed to the plan of action. It was all or nothing for him. And he needed to be clear "Girlfriend, no. Women are _definitely_ _not_ my area." Maintaining eye contact. _Willing_ him to understand. _To see._

_\---_

A silent moment passed between them before John seemed to realize the full significance of this statement. Along with the still unbroken eye contact of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes. It was enough to make his head spin.

Sherlock was _waiting._

And John

suddenly

_knew._

He knew why Sherlock had wanted to come _here_.

He knew _why_ Sherlock had wanted to invite _Harry_ this morning.

He knew _why_ Sherlock had wanted _THIS_ conversation. This scenario. This _scene._

Why it was _SO important_. Why it was possibly even, _ALL important_ , to him...

And John slowly, deliberately, stood up -

coming over to post himself before Sherlock, as he gave his scripted reply:

"Right." He drew it out,

"Do you ummm.... 

Do you, have a... a _boyfriend_?"

\---

Sherlock looked up, his eyes on John. John was giving this to him. Just as much as John needed given this.

He saw John's hands tightening and flex. Fold, open, fold. Watson's tell.

He saw Watson swallow. Nervous.

Saw Watson waiting for him to speak. Bravely,

As if awaiting a response from the very Fates themselves.

Sherlock poured his heart out into his reply, taking John's hands as he rose and meeting him eye for eye. "I was really hoping to have something _more_ ," he stated, as he pulled a ring out of his pocket.

He had anticipated the silence.

Emotional conversations

were _not_ something,

after all,

that _they_

did well.

But... he might have just broken

John Watson.

Sherlock stepped closer and dipped his head down to breathe against John's cheek. Possessively holding himself close and protective. Shielding John from the rest of the restaurant full of eyes - people, strangers, corporeal beings that were _somehow... still there?_ _While the world was being rebuilt around them_.

Sherlock only had eyes for John.

John's face was turned away just the slightest bit, hiding his embarrassment of tears. While his body stayed near Sherlock. Turned towards Sherlock. Close. To Sherlock.

In the kindest possible voice, Sherlock spoke one word.

The word that meant _everything_ to him:

"John."

At that John made a sound. Choked with emotion. And gently took the ring from Sherlock's open palm. Turning to bury his face in Sherlock's shoulder. One hand a vice grip on Sherlock' s shirt front. The other simply holding the ring where he could see it.

He was closer than Sherlock had ever dreamed possible. He had simply not allowed himself, to dream.

It was heaven.

After a few quiet moments, Sherlock directed John to sit down next to him. Closer then they would normally, if John would allow it. John scooted closer still.

Sherlock gathered a breath, as if to begin a speech when John held out a hand. "No," he said, "Just, give me a moment." There was an awkward silence then, while John was collecting himself. Again. "I'm sorry Sherlock." He stated, "I've been an idiot..."

"John, " Sherlock said, as if questioning if John could ever truly be an idiot?

"No, I have. I have, " John looked down at his lap, where the ring now sat. "This morning at the coffee shop. What you did. Inviting Harry, Sherlock - Harry told me. It was your idea. It was a lovely idea. You didn't have to hide it." Deciding this wasn't what he meant to say, he amended to "What I mean to say is - Thank you, Sherlock."

He paused a moment, 

"Harry was getting all the right signals apparently. Harry saw something that I had not quite put together... and she told me, but I then came to the wrong conclusions. And then later, when I found you with Molly..." John was kinda laughing, kinda sad now thinking back on it.

"I only wanted help," Sherlock said -

"I know,"

John breathed a heavy sigh, 

"I know _now._ "

Sherlock closed his eyes, nodded. Clearing his throat again. "I'm glad you came."

John echoed, "Yeah...

I'm glad I came." He smiled and shook his head, laughter in his eyes as if he could NOT believe this was how the day had ended. WAS ending...

He licked his lip. And again, stared at the man in front of him. As if taking it all in.

Then John surprised him, once again, by putting his hand over Sherlock's on the table. Intertwining their fingers, and just resting it there. Out in the open.

They were Holding Hands. _For all the world to see._

And several eyes had been watching them, Sherlock noted.

Angelo for one, had been hovering.

He finally came over asking if they needed a few moments? To make their selections? And poured a fresh glass of water for each as he bustled.

John eyed the candles on all the other tables, and turned to Sherlock. A slow grin spreading on his face. He maintained eye contact with Sherlock the entire time as he spoke up loudly, "A candle, please. Angelo."

Angelo stopped and turned back to face them (had they been looking). A huge smile breaking upon his face, as John continued - eyes locked with Sherlock as he leaned in, "I'm his Date."

He said it with a kind of awe.

Placing the ring on his hand (it fit perfectly), and kissing Sherlock Holmes for the first of many times to come. Polite applause around them as the ring was accepted. And Sherlock's cell phone chimed with Lestrade begging their assistance on a case.

Sherlock looked young again, in that moment.

His beauty heightened by the kindness and love found on display there.

A decade of worry and lines, 

fell from the doctor's charming face.

As they began to talk in earnest. Warmer tones, and laughter spilling from their table. In splashes, and ripples that spread across the restaurant. Filling the room. Incandescent. Like the candle that now sat between them. They lit up the room.

As Angelo walked away, the two boys sitting at his table in the corner by the window, were just finishing their first date - that first night, about to run off - out into the star covered London streets.

And a cane

would be waiting abandoned, by the window seat. 

For him to take,

To 221b.

\- The End -


End file.
